Work Text:
‘How did they even get you lodged up there?’
‘I DON’T KNOW! STOP ASKING!’
Tisha sighed in exasperation, stepping down from her stepladder to think for a moment. About half an hour ago–and following a full afternoon of Shrimpo going missing–Tisha found him hanging high up on the wall by the scruff of his shirt, red-faced and looking as if he lacked any degree of hesitation to murder someone. Since then, Tisha had been trying to pry him down from the loose pipe he hung from with a broom, whilst those bearing witness tried to contain their amusement. Sure, it was a little mean-spirited, but it was one of the few times the relentlessly horrible bully was vulnerable. His arms were crossed impatiently, and the tail of his shell curled shamefully to hover over his face.
In reality, everyone knew how Shrimpo got up there; a rowdy gang of 12-year-olds got their hands on him. But what they wanted to know was how, physically, a group of pre-teens could evade authorities, get their hands on Shrimpo and somehow get 15 metres in the air with enough stability to lodge him onto a loose pipe securely enough for him to spend 3 hours there, then flee the scene completely and entirely bruise-free.
‘Well, children can be cruel.’ Was the vague explanation made by Rodger that was largely accepted by everyone. ‘Especially to, well… you.’
It was true. Shrimpo, being the bully of the show–and real life–was undoubtedly the most hated toon. Although Rodger and Tisha were generally viewed as boring by the visiting children, even they had a small collection of fans, even if most were forced into it by their parents. Shrimpo, on the other hand, was fundamentally designed to be hated. He had dealt with more than his fair share of little trinkets thrown and knocked against his head, and insults tossed his way by little kids when their parents weren't around to hear. So much so, that on the rare occasion that a child would do something nice to him, he would treasure that gesture for years to come.
During a particular upsurge of the garden centre’s popularity, Shrimpo had been tasked to help out Scraps and Goob with an arts and crafts stall, where the three would teach any visitors of the stall basic origami. Scraps make butterflies, Goob made rabbits, and Shrimpo made the aforementioned two into torn-up shreds. Because, of course, his main job was to cause destruction in the stall, just for a little in-character entertainment. Not as if he was opposed to this.
‘Oh, Shrimpo! Do you have to destroy everything?’
‘YES! I HATE RABBITS, ALMOST AS MUCH AS I HATE BUTTERFLIES!’
Unlike the other toons, Shrimpo never found himself having to get into any kind of character. It was probably why he was alway assigned to do things like this; all he had to do was be himself. Easy. Plus, it was pretty cathartic, tearing up the hard work of those two paper dweebs.
The stall had just finished itself up as Shrimpo dusted off his hands, staring proudly at the pile of paper shreds. He was just about to scoop it up and dump it in one of the toons’ bedrooms–maybe Tisha’s–when he felt a tap on the shoulder. He turned with a scowl and found himself face to face with a little girl, who held out a crinkled paper to him.
He snatched the paper right up. He wasn’t really supposed to treat the visitors as badly as he treated the toons–though, sometimes he found himself yelling at parents to shut their babies up–so he didn’t say anything. He simply stared at the paper, scrutinising.
It was a messy crayon drawing of him. Shrimpo. If any child ever bothered to draw him, it was usually him getting chewed up by sharks or something, which he usually dismissed. But it was a real, genuine drawing of him.
‘You don’t like bunnies or butterflies, but I think they’re very nice.’
The little girl mumbled. Shrimpo was still staring at the drawing. It depicted him, petting bunnies and covered in butterflies. It’s so ugly! And he would never do that! Goob and Scraps, just returning their supplies to their boxes, stared in shock.
‘He’s going to yell at another kid, isn’t he…?’
Goob muttered to Scraps, face painted with worry. But Shrimpo, in fact, did not.
‘...WHATEVER! I WON’T TEAR THIS ONE UP, ONLY ‘CAUSE I LOOK AWESOME IN IT. BUT I STILL HATE BUNNIES AND BUTTERFLIES!! YOU HAVE POTENTIAL, SO DON’T STOP DRAWING!’
Shrimpo waved the girl off, folding the drawing and stuffing it in his pocket. The girl simply skipped off back to her family, leaving Shrimpo storming off and the two paper siblings’ mouths agape.
That was 8 years ago, and even today, the less than flattering sketch stands messily stuck to the wall of Shrimpo’s bedroom with a wad of blue tack.
---
‘WELL?! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! YOU KNOW HOW LONG I’VE BEEN STUCK UP HERE FOR!? I HATE WAITING!!’
Shrimpo waved his arms angrily at Tisha.
‘Yes, yes, I’m just figuring out a better way to go about this!’
An hour or two later, Shrimpo found himself eating with the others in the kitchen, with a chunk torn out of the scruff of his favourite shirt–which he will never stop chewing out Tisha for–and an unsightly bandaged fracture in his shell from the fall he took after she finally freed him. Usually, Shrimpo would eat on his own. Mostly because he hated eating with other people, but also partially because he was permanently banned from the kitchen. This time was an exception, though. Cosmo could see that Shrimpo was in need of a good meal, in spite of the protests of Sprout and even Shrimpo himself. I mean, how could one go about seeing the poor shrimp fall 10 feet to the ground directly on his head, then proceed to just go off and eat without him? As much as Cosmo partially wanted to, it was a little sad to witness firsthand just how the visitors treated him.
So, there he was. Practically suffocating (5 feet away) between these stupid toons because they pitied him, eating the admittedly pretty good fried rice that Sprout had prepared. But it was weird. Nobody was glaring at him, or scooting their chairs further away from him. Although, to be fair, he wasn’t catapulting food at them or yelling at them, either. He really ought to. Maybe he should. Maybe he will!
…But he didn’t. He sat through the whole meal in relative silence, although his scowl was still plastered on his face. Every now and then, the toons even included him in the conversation. Shrimpo, what do you think? I HATE IT. And then they just laughed lightheartedly, because it’s Shrimpo, of course he did.
That night would be the first that he ate with the other toons, but not the last. And even though he hated every second of those meals, and hated all the toons and hated their boring conversations, he couldn’t push down a certain warmth; one that drowned out the incessant throbbing of his cracked shell, and one that almost–just almost–drowned out his hatred.